Gospel Story Finder

My dad said he had a big deal going that would make us rich, but he had to leave town to go to Mexico for a few days. He asked if we’d be all right, and we said yes. He gave me 50 dollars for groceries, hugged us, said good-bye, threw his sleeping bag into his ’67 Ford, and left. That was four months ago.
There are just the three of us kids. My name is Jed, and I’m 13. I have a ten-year-old brother Sam. My seven-year-old sister is named Marcie.
We’ve had a couple of mothers. My real mother died when I was nine years old. She was a Mormon and had me baptized when I was eight. Sam and I went to Primary until she died. It was the month of March when she died. I remember how much the wind tore at the flowers at the graveyard when we all stood around and watched them set the casket over the place where they had dug up the earth.
Our second mother was a woman my dad met when he was driving a truck. Her name was Joan, and she worked in a cafe before she met Dad. She could make real good hash browns. I don’t think she liked us children very much because Dad was still driving and he was gone a lot. I guess we caused Joan plenty of trouble.
Dad drove for a big moving van company. He went all over the country. He always brought us a toy or game from wherever he went. He went all the way to Maine once.
I’m not sure what went wrong exactly, but Dad and Joan didn’t stay together long. Maybe she didn’t like the responsibility of all of us kids.
Dad had to quit driving for a while. He got a job as a dispatcher for the company. I guess it didn’t pay much or else he didn’t like sitting at a desk. I don’t blame him for that because I’d hate that too. Anyway, after a few months he quit being a dispatcher.
Then we didn’t know what he was doing. He’d be gone for a few days and come back with lots of money. It was great when he came back because he’d take us out for pizza one night and to a taco place the next night. He bought us all new bicycles one time and camping and fishing gear another time.
He’d stay at home for a week or two and then be gone again. At first he paid a lady to come in and cook for us, but I told him he could save the money and I could cook as well as those women, who always wanted to feed us casseroles with plenty of noodles and cream of mushroom soup. Most women I’ve ever met would rather cook a casserole than just about anything.
Anyway he left for Mexico. We got along okay. We always have. But after three weeks, we were playing outside in this old, deserted car that Dad said he’s going to fix up sometime. I looked around and saw one of the neighbors standing at her curtains looking at us real hard. I couldn’t see how we were hurting her any because we weren’t even on her property, but she looked at us for a long time.
The next day a lady came after school looking for my dad. She said she was from the county and she was a caseworker. For a while I thought she meant that she worked in a canning factory and packaged cases of food. But that’s not what she did.
I couldn’t figure why she came at all because all she did when she was there was sit and look. We were all watching Gilligan’s Island. We like to do that after school, and we were having some peanut butter sandwiches and milk. She sat in front of the TV set, but she didn’t watch it much. She had a clipboard, and she’d write things down. She asked if that was our supper, and Sam said yes, and she wrote that down.
We had plenty of peanut butter. when Dad was still working as a dispatcher, he heard about a truck that had been in a wreck. He bought cases of peanut butter and vegetables at a good price. Our basement was full of good deals like that.
The lady with the clipboard asked where my father was. I told her that he was away on business and that he would be back on Friday. That’s what I always told everybody who asked because usually Dad did come back on Friday, and I guess he was away on business, although I didn’t know what business he was in.
The lady left even before Gilligan’s Island was over. When she stood up to go, she sort of brushed herself off like the couch was infected. I bet when she was a kid she never watched Gilligan’s Island or ate peanut butter.
The money Dad left didn’t last forever. I had to pay the light bill with part of it, and I had to get Sam a new pair of tennis shoes. It didn’t take long before we were down to five dollars. Of course, we had peanut butter, but we had to buy jelly and bread, and they don’t give that stuff away, you know.
I had a paper route, though, and made ten dollars a week.
One day after school I was working on an old lawn mower engine. I like to take things apart and try to figure out how they work. I don’t always get them back together. The engine didn’t work anyway, so I wasn’t really wrecking anything.
Since we all ate around the TV, and we had a perfectly good kitchen table that we weren’t using, I was using the table as a workbench.
It was about 4:30 because I remember hearing the Brady Bunch starting. I was working on this engine when the doorbell rang. I was afraid it was going to be that lady with the clipboard.
It was a boy about my age. He asked if I was Jed, and I said yes, and he said he was Kevin Gallagher. That didn’t mean anything to me. He said he was the deacons quorum president. That made even less sense to me. To tell you the truth, he didn’t look like any kind of a president to me.
“So what?” I said.
I could tell he was nervous. He cleared his throat and looked like he was either going to cry or sneeze.
“I want to talk with you,” he said.
“Suit yourself,” I said. “Come on in the kitchen. I’m fixing a motorcycle engine.”
He followed me in. I hoped he didn’t know enough about engines to know that it was only a lawn mower engine and that I wasn’t really fixing it. He didn’t say anything about it.
He sat down on another chair after he first moved aside some wrenches.
To tell the truth, I sort of enjoyed making him nervous. I tried to look tough. I banged the wrenches together like I was a mechanic and knew what I was doing.
He sat there as stiff as a board watching me. Finally he just blurted out, “Are you a Mormon?”
“What if I am?” I said, trying to sound mean.
“You’re old enough to be a deacon,” he said, his eyes still moist.
“What’s that?”
“We pass the sacrament and collect fast offerings.”
“Why would I want to do that? I don’t even know what it is.”
“You could be in our Scout troop.”
“What for?” I sneered. I was hoping maybe I could get him to cry.
“We do lots of things, like go camping and fishing, and we learn to do things.”
“What kind of things?” I figured I had him and that he would talk about something dumb like tying knots.
Instead he sat a minute and looked at me. Then I saw a smile come on his face, and he said, “Like learning to be a mechanic.”
“Oh.” I tried to sound as if I wasn’t interested and I already knew everything about engines and cars.
“If you come next Wednesday, we’ll be starting a new course on how to fix engines. We’ll have a mechanic who works at Olson’s Garage showing us some things. I could come by and get you.”
You see, I always thought that if I could ever get that engine to work, I’d attach it to my bicycle, but I knew I was never going to fix it the way I was going.
“I might go,” I said, as coolly as I could.
He really did come by Wednesday night. I think that if I’d remembered he was coming, I might have chickened out and left the house before he got there. But I forgot until he was there; so I went with him.
When we got there, he led me right up to a man in the hall and introduced me to Bishop Townsend. The bishop reached out, shook my hand, and said he was glad I had come. Then Kevin had me meet his Scoutmaster, who was a grown man but still wore one of those green Scout uniforms. But the Scoutmaster wasn’t so bad once you got to know him. I guess he just liked Scouting.
There were about 15 other boys in the troop. I found out that not all of them were going to learn about engines. In fact, Kevin and I were the only ones. I’ve wondered since if Kevin created this whole engine mechanics course on the spot just to get me to come out. I’ve never asked him, but he’s sneaky like that.
Anyway, we went to Olson’s Garage, and this old guy, Brother Olson, showed us a lot about engines and tools. Afterwards we washed up and went back to church.
The bishop asked me if I had a good time.
“It was okay,” I answered coolly. But when I thought of what I would have done at home, it was ten times better than that.
He asked if I’d come again, and I said maybe. He put his hand on my shoulder and told me that the quorum needed me. Well, it made me feel a little uncomfortable, but I couldn’t help but think that he meant it.
The caseworker came by the next day. She asked where my father was, and I told her he was coming back any day. She asked me what I would think about going into a foster home until he came back, and I asked, “All of us in one home?” She said that she didn’t know if she could find one home for all of us. I told her that we all stick together and that we’d rather stay home. She wrote that on the clipboard.
Then she left. I noticed that there was a small stain on the back of her dress where she had sat on an old piece of toast, but I didn’t say anything. If I had, she probably would have written it down.
The next day we ran out of peanut butter. We weren’t completely out of food though. We had some shortening, a package of noodles, and some tortilla flour. There was a case of green beans in the basement.
The problem was that I’d already collected from everybody on my paper route for the month, so I couldn’t raise any money there.
We found that there are plenty of ways to come up with money when you think you’re broke. The first thing to do is to go through all the couches and stuffed chairs and look between the frame and springs where money can drop. We found 65 cents that way. Then you can look for soda pop bottles in the basement. The grocery store will pay for them. If you check a phone booth every time you pass one, you can sometimes find a dime in the coin return because some people don’t know they get their dime back if they try to make a phone call and don’t get through.
Friday after school I rode my bike out to the airport, collecting empty cans along the way. The recycling center will pay almost a penny a can. At the airport there is a fountain, and sometimes people throw money in there. I’ve made a small rake that I can use to get the money without getting my feet wet. I got 19 pennies and 3 dimes and 4 quarters.
All in all, we got enough for another jar of peanut butter, two loaves of bread, and some pork and beans.
Saturday, while Sam and Marcie were still watching cartoons, Kevin came over and asked us to go to church with him. I wasn’t going to go, but he said after church his parents said it was okay to invite all of us over for supper. I said we’d go, and we did.
I don’t remember much about church except in priesthood meeting Kevin ran the whole show as far as the deacons went. He got up and welcomed everybody and told them just how many he wanted to pass the sacrament. He made a point to tell the rest of them about me. He told them I was a good mechanic and that’s what their quorum needed for their summer cycling trip to the mountains.
Kevin’s mom really is a good cook. Sam, Marcie, and I didn’t talk much, but we sure did eat.
On Monday after school the lady from the county came with a man. He had a clipboard too. He never spoke directly to us, and when he said anything to her, he talked quietly as if he were telling secrets that we weren’t supposed to hear.
“Is your father back yet?” the lady asked.
“He’s due back any day.”
One thing about cats, they seem to know when a person doesn’t like them. Our cat crawled over to the man and sat on his lap. I knew he didn’t like that.
“Could we look around?” the man whispered to the lady.
“Is it all right if we look around?” the lady asked me.
“Why?” I asked her.
“We want to evaluate conditions here.”
“Conditions are just fine here,” I said.
Most of the time adults never listen to you. The man stood up, tried to brush off the cat hair, and went into the kitchen. She followed him.
He opened the refrigerator and shook his head. He looked in the cupboard and shook his head. He looked at the engine on the kitchen table and shook his head.
“Deplorable,” he whispered to the lady.
“These poor children,” she whispered back.
“I recommend foster homes as soon as possible.”
“Look,” I said, “my dad is coming back on Friday. We’ve got cases of food downstairs. We just don’t keep it in the kitchen.”
I ran downstairs, got the last case of green beans, and lugged it up to the kitchen. “Look, we got cases of food. If you want, I’ll bring it all up.” I didn’t think they would go downstairs to check.
It was a lie about there being more food downstairs, and I know it’s wrong to lie, but I also thought it was wrong for them to just walk in and start shaking their heads and making plans about shipping us to other homes.
“Who could we use?” the lady said to the man.
“How many children are there?” the man asked her.
“Just the three.”
“The Johnson family could take one. Rosetti’s can take the girl. Maybe Palmer’s would take the oldest boy.”
“My dad said we could definitely expect him on Friday.”
The lady heard me. “The boy said his father is coming back on Friday,” the lady told the man.
“I guess we could wait until Friday,” the man whispered.
They left, but they sat in their car and wrote on their clipboards for five minutes in front of the house.
I knew what was coming. They were going to split us up and put us in three different homes, homes where we’d eat hot cereal for breakfast and casseroles for supper. They wouldn’t know that Marcie sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night crying, but if you go in and touch her forehead for a minute, she’ll fall back asleep. They wouldn’t know that Sam doesn’t like corn, and it doesn’t matter if you say that it’s good for him, he won’t eat it, not plain, not creamed, and not on the cob.
There were things about them that only I knew. If we were separated, we would stop being a family. I couldn’t let that happen.
I went with Kevin on Wednesday night to Mutual. They had refreshments afterwards, and I slipped two cookies in a shirt pocket to take home to Sam and Marcie.
I guess I’d told so many people that Dad was coming home Friday that I almost believed it myself. But when I woke up Friday morning, I knew we had to do something or else we’d wind up in foster homes. I got Sam and Marcie up early. While we were eating some toast and peanut butter, I turned off the TV and talked to them.
“We’ve got to leave town today. How would you like to go to California?”
“Why today?” Marcie asked.
“That lady who comes here, she doesn’t like us living alone. She wants to make us go away and live in somebody else’s home. We’d all be in different homes, and we might not see each other for a long time.”
Marcie started to cry.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let them split us up.”
We went downstairs and got our sleeping bags and packs. We put the rest of our food in my pack. Sam carried a hatchet, matches, and a flashlight in his pack along with his clothes.
We left about 9:00 in the morning. I figured that the caseworker wouldn’t go to our house until after school, so I wasn’t worried about hiding from them when we first started, but we wanted to get as far away as we could before night.
We took a city bus out of town as far as it went and then started walking. Sam and I could have walked faster, but Marcie slowed us down. By night we were only ten miles out of town.
Before we left, when I planned about us leaving, I pictured us in the mountains catching fish and eating berries and trapping animals for our food. Things never work out the way you picture them. Ten miles out of town we were still in the suburbs with miles and miles of shopping centers and auto dealerships. There were no trees to chop down and no berries to eat. I did find some pretty good lettuce in the garbage can behind one grocery store. It just had a couple of brown spots on it.
During the day when the wind blows, it’s one thing. But at night when the wind blows and it’s November, that’s another thing.
Finally we found a small park. Somebody had left some empty boxes that they store chicken in for picnics and some other paper in a trash container. We burned them to heat up our beans.
Then we unrolled our sleeping bags and tried to sleep. The wind was kind of spooky, and Marcie was afraid, but we had her put her sleeping bag between Sam and me and told her how much fun it was to be camping out.
It was cold, and it took us a long time to get to sleep.
Sometime during the night I woke up because there was a flashlight shining in my eyes.
“What are you kids doing?” a policeman asked us.
“We’re just sleeping out,” I said. “We do it all the time.”
“You can’t sleep overnight at this park.”
We put our shoes on, threw things into our packs, grabbed our sleeping bags, and walked quickly away.
He got back in his car and started to talk on his radio.
“I’ve just found three kids sleeping in Rock Creek Park. Have you got anything there on any runaways?”
We started to run.
He jumped out of his car and yelled after us, “Wait! I need to ask you some questions!”
Marcie fell down. I could see the man in the police car backing up so he could turn around to chase us.
I dropped my pack and sleeping bag and picked Marcie up in my arms. We ran across the street, through one yard, along an alley for a few feet, and then into another yard across the alley. We found a garage with the door open, and we ran in and quietly closed the overhead door and waited.
There was a small window on the garage door, and I looked out. The police car moved slowly past the street twice, shining his light on everything as he passed.
After half an hour he quit circling the block.
I left Sam and Marcie in the garage and went back to see if I could find our packs and sleeping bags. The policeman had taken them and was parked behind a hedge waiting for us, but I didn’t let him see me.
I went back to the garage, and we stayed there for a few hours. I let Marcie and Sam sit on my coat so they wouldn’t be cold sitting on the concrete. I told them I wasn’t cold.
Marcie began to cry. She cried softly because she knew we’d be in trouble if the people in the house woke up. We couldn’t stop her. She must have cried for half an hour.
We were beaten, and I knew it. We only had 75 cents, and we were out of food and a way to sleep. Sam and I could have gone on, but Marcie was too scared, and we wouldn’t ever leave her.
It was turning gray when we left the garage and walked back to the bus stop where we had gotten off the day before. As soon as the buses began to run in the morning, we took one back to the city.
We got off the bus near our home and walked through backyards until we were close enough to see our house. I wanted to see if Dad had come home yet. He hadn’t, but while we were watching, a police car drove past the house slowly.
We ran to Kevin’s house, went to the back door, and knocked. Kevin opened the door and let us in.
Kevin’s mom asked us if we’d like some pancakes. Sam and Marcie both said yes, and she made us some.
They didn’t ask us any questions, but when Kevin’s mom put some pancakes on Marcie’s plate, she touched her head lightly, the way mothers do to little girls. I guess it was the wrong thing to do because Marcie broke down and started crying again.
Kevin’s mom sat down and put her arms around Marcie. Marcie kept saying as she cried, “Don’t let them break us apart.”
Then Sam started to cry, but don’t think badly of him because he’s only ten years old.
We finally told Kevin and his parents what had happened. Kevin’s dad called the bishop and asked him to come over.
The bishop came and took me to his office in the meetinghouse. He left Sam and Marcie at Kevin’s so they could watch Saturday cartoons.
I told the bishop everything, and he promised he wouldn’t let anybody split us up.
Then he got on the phone and made five or six phone calls. After he was through, he asked me if we would like to stay with Kevin’s parents for a while. He said it was okay with the people from the county.
That was a month ago. My dad hasn’t come back yet, but he will. One of these days he’ll come back with toys and games from Mexico.
When he does, I want to tell him about the Church and about family home evenings and about the priesthood. I’m a deacon now, and Kevin and I work together in Scouting. It’s not bad, Scouting I mean. You have to learn about knots, but I guess even that could be useful someday.
I’ve gone to priesthood meeting enough to know that what I was before I started going to church is what they call an inactive. Now I’m what they call an active. I also found out that there are more inactives than there should be. Kevin says we have to keep working to turn the inactives into actives. We talk plenty about that in priesthood meeting. I guess that’s why Kevin first visited us—to turn us into actives.
You know, he really is a good president of our quorum.

Mike and Lynn are a young married couple with two young children. They especially wanted to share this day with their children and make it special for the whole family. Their entire family worked hard that day to be nicer to each other. They spent the day in the canyons learning about each other and our Father in heaven. As Mike said, “You cannot have a perfect day and not improve your family life. It was wonderful.”
Lynn shared another experience that had happened to her. “Early that morning I arose and decided to fix a good breakfast. I started making pancakes first. I was whipping up the pancakes with a wire whip a little too vigorously, I guess, because suddenly the batter splattered all over everything—the cupboards, the floor, me. Then I looked down at my son and his face had dozens of tiny pancake batter specks on it, and his eyes were big as saucers. When I looked at him, I began to laugh. Usually I would have become very irritated in that kind of a situation.
“And just after breakfast, I received a call from my mother asking if I could give my sister a ride to work that morning. I bundled up the kids, warmed up the car, and drove out to mother’s. By the time I got there my sister had found another ride to work. Again I was able to accept the situation instead of becoming angry or disgusted.
“As I was driving home from Mother’s I began to cry. My son asked what the matter was, and all I could say was, ‘We are going to have a perfect day.’

“Please, Mom, can we invite Sister Fuhriman just one more time?” Greg pleaded. His younger brothers’ anxious faces poked out from behind Greg like pegs on a coat rack.
“It will be Christmas Eve, and she shouldn’t be alone,” Layne said. Scott and Jim nodded.
“You know how many times we have tried to invite Sister Fuhriman to our house,” Mom said. “She rarely goes out. But you may invite her for Christmas Eve if you like.”
The boys cheered and bounded outside.
Soon the door burst open again. “It’s a miracle, Mom!” Greg called. “She said she’d love to come. Isn’t that great?”
The next day snow started falling. Greg knew that Sister Fuhriman avoided going outside in bad weather, even to the mailbox. “Do you think she will still come tomorrow?” Greg asked. Mom wasn’t sure.
On Christmas Eve, Aunt Carolyn and her three children arrived just as Layne finished cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. “Can we go get Sister Fuhriman now?” Layne asked.
“All right,” Dad said. “Remember to help her as she walks across the road. It’s slick outside.”
“We will, Dad,” Scott said.
“And if she decides not to come after all, don’t make her feel bad about not coming,” Dad said.
“We won’t, Dad,” Greg said. The boys stepped outside into the snow-covered landscape. The snow had stopped falling, and there was still a little daylight to show them the way.
Eight-year-old Adam was helping Bekah and Jill get into their costumes for the family Christmas pageant when the boys stepped through the door—helping Sister Fuhriman inside! She smiled cheerily, her cheeks bright from the cold. The family tried not to seem so surprised that their guest of honor had really come.
Dad made Sister Fuhriman feel welcome and helped her choose a seat next to Mom. Greg slipped out of his coat and sat at the piano. After an opening prayer, he began to play Christmas hymns softly. Scott read from the Bible as the younger children acted out the story of the first Christmas. Wearing a bathrobe, three-year-old Bekah reverently played the part of Mary while Dan pretended to be Joseph. Jill played the part of an angel with a gold garland pinned in her hair. Cousins played shepherds and Wise Men, all come to worship the infant King.
Soon the strains of “Silent Night” faded, and the reverence of the sacred story gave way to hugs, smiles, and compliments all around. To finish off the night, they enjoyed Mom’s warm cinnamon rolls. All too soon, the evening was over.
The boys again put on their coats, hats, and mittens to escort Sister Fuhriman across the road. The glow of the porch light pushed away the darkness, making their walk across the snow-packed country road pleasant in spite of the cold.
“Good night, Sister Fuhriman,” Greg called as he and his brothers turned back toward their house.
“Merry Christmas,” Sister Fuhriman called. “And thank you.”
Greg glanced over his shoulder just before he stepped back into his house. Sister Fuhriman was still on her porch, watching. She waved.

Great-Grandma came to live with Grandpa and Grandma Marshal about two years ago. My family lives just up the street, and we like that because we can visit them a lot.
Grandma Marshal is Great-Grandma’s caregiver. She helps take care of her mother’s needs, and is a very good and loving daughter.
Great-Grandma is old. She told me one day, “I’m so old I feel guilty every time I draw a breath!”
Great-Grandma makes me laugh. And she’s always smiling, even when she’s sad. “Life’s too short to waste it by wearing a long face, even at my age. Happiness is a choice, Makinzee,” she explained one day. We were sitting on the porch swing together watching a little autumn breeze carry leaves and birds across the sky. “The only one that can make you unhappy is yourself.” Great-Grandma tapped the tip of my nose. “Besides, there’s so much to be happy about!”
“Like what, Great-Grandma?” I asked.
Her smile got as bright as the sunlight shining through the elm tree’s yellow leaves. “Even at 93, I’m a child of God,” she said. “And just look about you, child. There are birds that sing their hearts out. There’s the sun that can light a whole world, and there are flowers that bloom.”
She patted my knee. “I have a family who loves me, and I have hands to help others.” She held up a pair of fleece mittens she was sewing for a needy children’s program.
Then she looked up at the sky. “My, my, everywhere I look there’s more. A loving Heavenly Father watching over us, and, oh!” She pointed to a huge, misty rainbow a ways off. “Rainbows are not only promises of better times, but reminders that when we have trials we can still be happy.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Don’t rainbows come after it rains? Don’t wildflowers grow when it rains?” Great-Grandma asked.
I nodded.
“If rain can make the flowers grow, Makinzee, then why not the rest of us too?” Great-Grandma smiled.
The next summer Great-Grandma got really sick. She had to stay in bed a lot of the time. One day I looked quietly into her room, and she was lying in bed staring at an empty wall, watching the shadows get bigger. I guess she was happy because she said life was too short to be sad, but, well, today she looked sad.
I decided it was my turn to make her smile. Grandpa Marshal had planned for a long time to take my brother, Ethan, and me to the circus. I really wanted to go, and today was the last day before it left town. But instead I asked Grandpa if he would mind taking just Ethan. I had a strong feeling that I should stay and do something for Great-Grandma.
Grandpa didn’t say anything. His chin started shaking like the leaves do when the wind blows, and he hugged me for a long time.
When I told Grandma Marshal why I was staying, her eyes filled up with tears, and one ran down onto her smile before she could push it away. She always said if a warm tear touches your lips it makes sweet words grow, and I guess she’s right because she whispered, “Bless you.”
Grandma keeps lots of paper, crayons, watercolors, and other fun stuff for her grandchildren in what she calls the “kids’ corner.” After Grandpa and Ethan left, I set to work.
Three hours later I hung pictures of rainbows all over the empty wall in Great-Grandma’s room. She cried. It was only the third time I ever saw her cry. The first time was when she bore her testimony at church. The second was when a little bird died in her hands—she said it’s a sad thing when someone or something passes away and nobody sheds a tear. And the third time was when she saw all those rainbows. But those tears—like the ones when she bore her testimony—were happy tears. She laughed. “So many rainbows,” she said, “and all in my room!”
Two days later, Great-Grandma died. I cried, but they were warm tears, the kind that make sweet words grow. I wrote some of them down on a piece of paper and put them in Great-Grandma’s casket. I said, “I love you, Great-Grandma. Thank you for your smiles. I will try to be like you by being my own best self. Mom and Dad said that if I can learn to be happy like you, even when I’m sad, and to think of others like you always did, that I will be in pretty good shape when it’s my turn for someone to paint rainbows in my room. I’ll see you later, Great-Grandma, so I won’t say good-bye. Love, Makinzee.”

Some years ago on fast Sunday, an elderly sister came to the pulpit to share her testimony. She lived in the city called Iquitos, which is in the Peruvian Amazon. She told us that from the time of her baptism, she had always had the goal of receiving the ordinances of the temple in Lima, Peru. She faithfully paid a full tithe and saved her meager income for years.
Her joy upon going to the temple and receiving the sacred ordinances therein was expressed in these words: “Today I can say that I finally feel ready to go through the veil. I am the happiest woman in the world; I have saved money, you have no idea for how long, to visit the temple, and after seven days on the river and 18 hours by bus, I was finally in the house of the Lord. When leaving that holy place, I said to myself, after all the sacrifice that has been required for me to come to the temple, I will not let anything make me take lightly every covenant I made; it would be a waste. This is a very serious commitment!”
I learned from this sweet sister that personal sacrifice is an invaluable force that drives our decisions and our determinations. Personal sacrifice drives our actions, our commitments, and our covenants and gives sacred things meaning.

The young women of the Kelowna (British Columbia) First Ward spent one of their Tuesday evenings last spring sanding and varnishing blocks and wooden toys for the local Women’s Emergency Shelter.
The young women had talked with the director of the shelter, Cari Berger, to see what its needs were. They found that there were lots of stuffed toys but that the shelter never seemed to have enough boys’ toys and could definitely use some blocks or wooden animals.
The ward purchased wood, and one of the brethren, DeMoine Findlay, rough-cut over 150 toys and blocks for the girls to sand and varnish. The animal patterns were collected from craft magazines and enlarged to suit a wooden toy. Some of the patterns were so delightful, the girls were begging to keep “just one each.” (The llamas were an especially big hit.)
Sanding and painting shifts were rotated for variety as the girls worked hard and harmoniously. In fact, they worked so quickly that the two girls who were hanging the toys to dry could hardly keep up! Two other girls kept a sewing machine humming through the evening making bright-colored tote bags for the toys to be stored in at the shelter.
After the project was completed, the three class presidents, Jennie Jenson, Trudie Carlton, and Christie Adams, joined Young Women president Joyce Findlay at the shelter to make the presentation of the gift to the director. One of the girls was so impressed by the shelter and its mission that she made plans to volunteer there.
The one-time Tuesday evening project of the young women of Kelowna First Ward continues to bring great joy to lots of little children. Each new child is delighted to see the unique wooden animals. A couple of little boys have had their birthdays while at the shelter, and an animal was carefully wrapped and given to each one as his own special toy. The wooden toys have become a favorite at the shelter. They’re the type of toy that children can be creative and use their imaginations with, and the children constantly ask for them.
The enthusiasm for the project was inspiring. Two inactive girls were interested enough to participate, as well as two nonmember friends of the group. Attendance for the project was almost 100 percent. At the time, there were no members of the Church involved at the shelter, so this service was totally a church-to-community gift from the girls.

Many of you are aware that a short time after October conference, my dear wife, Frances, suffered a fall, which left her with a broken hip and a broken shoulder. After two successful surgeries and several weeks of hospitalization, she was able to return home. She is doing well and continues to make progress toward a full recovery. She was able to attend the general Young Women meeting last Saturday and plans to attend a session or two this weekend. In fact, at the last minute she said, “I’m going today!” And she’s here! She joins me in expressing our deep gratitude to our Heavenly Father and to all of you for your prayers and your well wishes in her behalf.

This story happened in Indonesia.
Ernesto put another shirt in his bag. He looked around the room. What else did he need to take? He saw his Book of Mormon on a table. He couldn’t forget that!
It was summer break. Ernesto’s family was going to visit Grandma and Grandpa. He was so excited to see his grandparents.
When Ernesto and his family arrived, Grandpa gave him a big hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
“We’ve missed you!” Grandma smiled and hugged Ernesto too.
“I’ve been waiting and waiting for today. We love visiting,” Ernesto said.
“Let’s go inside,” said Grandpa. “Grandma is going to make all your favorite foods.”
Ernesto walked into the house with Grandma and Grandpa. He was so excited to spend time with them.
The next morning, Ernesto woke up to the smell of rice cooking. He found Mom and Grandma busy in the kitchen. He kissed them both on the cheek. Then he ran out to the yard.
Dad and Grandpa were sitting and talking outside, drinking from cups.
“Good morning. Would you like some tea?” Grandpa held out his cup to Ernesto.
Ernesto looked at the cup of tea and then at Grandpa. He wanted to share what he had learned in Primary. “No, thank you, Grandpa,” he said. “I learned at my church that tea, coffee, and tobacco are not good for our bodies. I want to follow what Jesus wants me to do.”
Dad smiled. “Our family obeys the Word of Wisdom, but Grandpa believes differently, and that’s OK.”
“Thank you for sharing what you believe,” Grandpa said to Ernesto. “You are a good boy. You can have some hot water like your dad.” Grandpa poured Ernesto a cup of water from the kettle.
Ernesto took a sip. He felt happy inside for choosing the right.
At lunch, Ernesto got to eat his favorite foods. Grandma made nasi goreng, a dish with rice, eggs, meat, and vegetables. It was so delicious. And Ernesto liked talking to Grandma and Grandpa while they ate.
In the afternoon, the family played hide-and-seek together. Even Grandpa and Grandma played!
“I see you behind that tree, Ernesto!” Dad called, racing toward him. Ernesto laughed as he tried to get away. Playing with his family was fun.
That night, everyone sat around Grandpa as he told some stories. When Grandpa finished, Ernesto remembered that they had not read scriptures.
Ernesto jumped up. “I’ll be right back.”
He ran and got his Book of Mormon. When he came back, he asked, “Can we read?”
“I’m glad you remembered.” Mom took the book from Ernesto and turned to her favorite verse. She read it aloud. Then they all kneeled down.
“Would you like to pray with us?” Ernesto asked his grandparents.
“Yes, that would be nice,” Grandma said. She kneeled next to Grandpa.
Dad said the prayer. He thanked Heavenly Father that they got to spend time as a family.
After the prayer, Grandpa gave Ernesto a hug. “It’s good that your family prays,” he said. “I’m glad you want to be close to God. It will help your family stay strong.”
Ernesto felt warm and peaceful inside. He loved sharing his beliefs—something he loved—with Grandma and Grandpa—people he loved.
Illustrations by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi

As a full-time missionary I have the opportunity to read the Liahona (Spanish) and to share copies with others.
One time, my companion and I were approached by a young man who asked if we would give him any copies of the Liahona we had finished reading. He explained that he likes to read the Liahona because he learns much from the experiences and counsel published in the magazine.
As we left to get him a copy, we asked him which ward he belonged to. He replied that he was not a member of the Church but had been reading the Liahona for quite some time because members of the local branch had shared it with him. We asked if he wanted to know more about the Church, and eventually, after hearing the missionary discussions, he was baptized.
This new convert continues to read the Liahona because, as he says, the words of the prophets “really apply to our lives.” The messages in the Liahona are not just for members; they are for everyone.
Elder Moctezuma Meza,México Guadalajara Mission

The phone rang, and Mom called out that it was for me. No one called for me very often right after we moved to Wilsonville, Oregon, so I ran to find out who it was.
When I hung up I was smiling from ear to ear. “I won!” I shouted.
“What did you win?” Mom asked.
I explained that I had won a drawing to be a “team kid” at a Portland Trailblazers NBA basketball game. I would receive free tickets, a tour of the locker room, and a chance to go down before the game and be on the court with the team. Wow! I had always dreamed of meeting professional basketball players and getting their autographs. And now my dream was about to come true.
The next day when we went to pick up the tickets, I opened the envelope and learned that the game was on Sunday. My dream was smashed. I wanted to go so much, but I knew it wouldn’t be right. My family shared my disappointment. My mother called the contest people to see if I could switch to another game. I couldn’t. My parents said the decision was mine to make.
I didn’t go to the game. I went to church as usual that Sunday. I took the sacrament and listened to the talks. I went to Primary, sang the songs, and listened to the lessons. A few times my mind wandered to the basketball game and what I could have been doing. But I wasn’t too sad. Even if I never win another chance to be a team kid, I know that I made the right decision.

The third type of love I want to share is a bit personal and yet needs to be shared. Prior to serving a senior mission, I had not heard much about a unique and wonderful blessing of strengthening that occurs within one’s marriage. In our case, we have been happily married for 42 years, and they have been wonderful and joyful years. However, with children, grandchildren, Church callings, a demanding professional career, and a variety of exciting extracurricular activities, we found that our time together had become limited to a few hours here and there, large family and church gatherings, and not terribly regular date nights. However, as we began serving as full-time senior missionaries, we found ourselves together all the time. Naturally, this required some companionship interviews. The result has been an unexpected and unimaginable blessing, even a rediscovery of why we got married so many years ago. I am reminded of how twitterpated I felt when I first set eyes on the blonde hair, blue eyes, and brilliant smile of Sue Maughan. She has the same spell over me as she did many years ago.

During a religion class at Ricks College, I was teaching from section 25 of the Doctrine and Covenants, in which Emma Smith is told she should give her time “to writing, and to learning much” (D&C 25:8). About three rows back in the class sat a blond woman whose brow wrinkled as I urged diligence in developing writing skills. She raised her hand and said, “That doesn’t seem reasonable to me. All I’ll ever write are letters to my children.” That brought laughter.

Then a young man stood up, near the back. He had said little during the term. He was older than the other students, and he was shy. He asked if he could speak, then told in a quiet voice of being a soldier in Vietnam. One day he had left his rifle and walked across his fortified compound to mail call. Just as he got a letter in his hand, he heard a bugle blow and rifle fire coming in ahead of the swarming enemy. He fought his way back to his rifle, using his hands as weapons. With the men who survived, he drove the enemy out. The wounded were evacuated. Then he sat down among the living, and some of the dead, and opened the letter.

It was from his mother. She wrote that she’d had a spiritual experience that assured her he would live to come home if he would remain righteous. To my class, the boy said quietly, “That letter was scripture to me. I kept it.” And he sat down.

Don’t look now, but there are three boys flying through the air on a magic bench. They’re wearing wild clothes, hats, and boots, and they’re singing beautiful music. The people on the ground below are also dressed in colorful costumes—one of them looks like a bird—and they’re singing a plea for help. The words to the boys’ song in response seem enchanted. All problems are resolved.
Does this sound like some bizarre dream caused by a hot fudge, french fry sundae right before bedtime? It’s not. It’s all in a day’s work for professional opera singers Steven Wilkin, Andrew Grose, and Jeffrey Perry, the deacons who recently starred as the “genies” in the Utah Opera Company’s version of Mozart’s The Magic Flute.
At 13, the three boys have been singing professionally for several years. Their performances have taken them all over the country and even to different parts of the world. They’re making friends and developing talents at a remarkable rate. As far as after-school jobs go, “it beats a paper route,” says Jeff.
When you hear the three boy sopranos sing, whether they’re harmonizing together, performing in front of huge crowds in Japan as Steven and Andrew have done, or crooning country-western tunes as Jeff does in a restaurant on Thursday nights, you think you’ve been transported to heaven and are listening to the angels themselves. Their voices are high and clear, and although they work hard and practice incessantly, it’s obvious that a certain degree of their talent is a divine gift.
Steven discovered he had a gift when he was about three, singing and talking in Primary. Andrew’s talent was discovered by his third-grade teacher when she cast him in the class production of Hansel and Gretel. Jeff discovered he was talented only a few years ago, when his friends heard him sing along perfectly with Whitney Houston’s recording of “The Star Spangled Banner.” Voice lessons would be a good thing here, decided the boys and their parents. Training helps, but without the “something extra” they were born with, they would never be where they are today.
Each was also blessed with the ability to sing on stage in front of thousands of people without being nervous or afraid. These boys have always been amazingly poised, getting leads in major productions like Oliver and Amahl and the Night Visitors almost the first time they tried out. “Prayer helps a lot,” says Andrew. “And Dad’s blessings that I’ll perform to the best of my abilities help too,” adds Steven.
Now before you get jealous and start wondering why God didn’t bless you with a talent like that, consider the fact that there are some drawbacks to being a gifted boy soprano. All the blessings in the world won’t make these three boys comfortable singing in front of their own wards.
“The older boys and the deacons quorum tease you about singing high,” says Steven. “I like to collect fast offerings and to pass the sacrament with them, but when it comes to singing, it’s easier to be on stage in front of thousands of people you’ll never see again than to have to sing in front of a room full of people who really know you.”
Because of his high, clear voice, Andrew couldn’t even get a part in his own school musical. “They were doing Guys and Dolls, and the drama teacher said the only part they had for my voice would have been the female lead, which I obviously couldn’t play. Some of the kids at school went around saying, ‘I got a singing part without even taking a lesson, and Andrew, who has had all this training, doesn’t even get to be on stage.’ It worked out okay though. I got to be stage manager, and it was fun to watch everyone else perform without any pressure on me.”
The pressure. That’s something else these boys are forced to deal with, and at a very young age they’re learning some amazing things. Steven was ecstatic about landing the lead role in a professional production of Amahl and the Night Visitors, until he heard his understudy sing. His voice was like silver. “Oh Mom!” Steven said, with tears in his eyes, “He’s so much better than I am! He should have my part.” It was then explained to Steven that the boy who was singing had grown too big for the lead, and Steven’s part was secure.
Steven decided right then and there that he would be very nice to his understudy and treat him without jealousy or malice. Steven knew how that felt, because he’d been treated poorly as an understudy before. This decision turned out to be better than Steven ever expected. His understudy in Amahl was Andrew, and now they’re the closest of friends.
It’s a good thing these boys have learned how to make friends at all times and in all places. When they’re involved in a production, there isn’t a lot of “hang time.” While most guys their ages are playing Nintendo and hanging out with their friends, Jeff, Andrew, and Steven are busy learning Italian, Latin, German, Japanese, taking dance and voice lessons, and attending rehearsals. Those activities, plus Scouting and deacons quorum duties, and a few sports like baseball, skiing, and basketball, take up almost all their time. That doesn’t leave many minutes for just being with friends.
“Sometimes I wish I had more time for that,” says Steven, wistfully. “But I’ve become good friends with the other guys in the productions, and we hang out at the rehearsals. We’ll rollerblade when we’re not on stage, and stuff like that. It’s pretty fun.”
That’s all fine for now, you might say, but what happens as they start growing up? “The Dreaded Voice Change,” as Andrew calls it, has been looming darkly on the horizon ever since these boys discovered they could sing soprano.
How will they deal with it? Their beautiful voices have been earning them money and attention, and all that could easily change in a week. They each handle it in their own way. Steven’s voice has already changed, but because he was rehearsing so hard for The Magic Flute while it was happening, he can still reach the high notes and sound as good as ever. Andrew is hoping to develop his new, deeper voice as well as he developed his boy soprano voice. Jeff can’t wait for his voice to go lower. He’d rather be a professional baseball player or a doctor in the long run anyway.
In the meantime, these boys do what they can to turn around and bless others with the talents they’ve been given. You’ll often find Andrew entertaining large groups at nursing homes. “I love singing for older people,” he says. Steven has performed in a number of charity concerts to raise money for the homeless and terminally ill children, and Jeff has used his voice to help his grandparents do missionary work. All three boys sing often at missionary farewells, funerals, and in other Church programs.
While all three boys love the feeling they get when they sing before an audience, their lives don’t necessarily revolve around their singing careers. If you catch them after a Saturday night performance when the audience is roaring and they’ve just taken three curtain calls, you might ask them, “Now that you’ve won the hearts of thousands and your voices are critically acclaimed, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to pass the sacrament!” these three deacons would tell you. What else would they do on a Sunday?

The reason this story, together with President Hinckley’s counsel, comes to mind is that they closely mirror my own experience with tithing. I learnt that rendering “to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s”4 in diligence and love of Heavenly Father can really change our so-called fortunes. Once I decided to bring tithes into the storehouse and prove the Lord of hosts,5 the debts that I had struggled to pay for some years were settled in a few months. My self-reliance improved as a result, and it has been getting better and better ever since. All of this was the result of listening to a well-prepared talk given in a normal church meeting I attended and decided to act on the teachings received.

Eighteen-year-old Amber Romney has a philosophy about her life. She got it from a children’s book she read when she was 11. The book is a familiar one, The Little Engine That Could. Amber, who is deaf, can relate to the little engine who had to tell herself over and over again, “I think I can, I think I can” as she pulled the big train up the mountain.
“In my life, my hill is my hearing impairment,” says Amber, of Mesa, Arizona. “The little engine is my strong will.”
With that attitude, Amber is able to face her daily challenges.
Amber’s positive attitude and desire to succeed have helped her to accomplish many things since a severe illness took her hearing when she was only 15 months old.
She’s learned to read lips and use sign language to communicate. Most importantly she has learned to never give up. With the help of her family, friends, and especially Heavenly Father, Amber has learned to overcome her disability and excel at many things.
“Everyone has their ups and downs,” Amber says, using her mother, Stephanie, as an interpreter. “I try to have as many ups as I can.”
Meeting people and making new friends is sometimes difficult. “I think maybe some people are intimidated because they think that they can’t talk to me,” she says. “Sometimes I have to make the first approach.”
Even if someone can’t sign to Amber, she can usually read lips. It’s a talent she says she’s continually getting better at.
She can speak to others because of years of speech therapy. She says that after the first few conversations people have with her, they usually get used to the way she talks. Then it gets easier.
Her dad, Bill, who serves as bishop of the Harmony Park Ward, Mesa Kimball Stake, says he also notices how Amber likes it if people try to sign to her. “She’s almost complimented by that,” he says, “and she always loves the opportunity to teach them or help them to sign.”
Now, thanks to Amber, most of her friends and her two younger sisters and brother know at least basic sign language, and some have even taken it as a class at school.
Amanda Lloyd, 17, who is in Amber’s ward and has been friends with her since they were both three years old, says Amber has taught her a lot about signing. “It’s not like I learned it all at once,” she says. “But since we’ve hung out so much I’ve learned it as I’ve gone.”
This year Mesa High School offered a sign language class for the first time. The class filled up immediately. Amanda says a lot of those students were people who wanted to learn to sign so they could communicate with Amber. “She’s such a sweet person,” says Amanda. “Everybody really admires her.”
Amber does something that most people probably wouldn’t think she could do. She’s a cheerleader. She made the team when she was 14 and has been cheering ever since.
Two years later she wrote an essay about being a cheerleader and won third place in a national writing contest sponsored by Gallaudet University in Washington, D.C. Deaf students from around the country were asked to write about their biggest challenge.
Amber titled her paper “A Silent Cheer.” In the essay, she shared her feelings about becoming a cheerleader. “I just went for what I wanted, despite the fact that I am deaf,” she wrote. “I couldn’t hear the music or the cheers, but with other people’s help I could do it.”
Now she’s cheered for four years and no one even notices that she doesn’t hear the music, the beat, or the other girls’ voices. “She’s got great peripheral vision,” explains her mother. That, combined with lots of practice, makes for near-perfect performances.
Amber continues to rely on her positive attitude and strong will as she gets involved in other activities.
She has also participated on the varsity swim team for four years. She’s involved in National Honor Society, Mayor’s Youth Committee, Spirit Club, and Junior Optimist Club, and she served as Girls’ State delegate last summer.
Even though she’s busy, she’s never too busy to be active in Church activities, and she loves her Young Women class.
“She does what everyone else does, plus more,” says her friend Amanda. “People are always so amazed with her that she’s come so far in her life and has done some really hard things that others wouldn’t dream of doing. She’s an awesome example to me and to everyone else.”
Amber is quick to point out that her accomplishments are the result of blessings in her life. “I know that Heavenly Father is responsible for my successes,” she says. “I couldn’t get by without His help.”
Still there are times when Amber gets discouraged. It’s then that she reflects upon her blessings to restore her positive attitude. “I just think about what Heavenly Father has done for me, how much my family loves me, how much my friends help me. And I read my patriarchal blessing, and that lifts my spirit,” she says.
“I think my hearing impairment has helped me have a stronger testimony of the gospel and to appreciate life more and more each day,” she says.
With her positive attitude and great faith, Amber continues to overcome the obstacles and, like the little engine that successfully reaches the top of the mountain, she realizes, “I know I can. I know I can.”

The final miles of a 25-mile bicycle ride can be grueling. But for 120 young people from the Beaverton Oregon Stake the miles were pleasant for two different reasons: (1) their course had been planned so that the last five miles meandered along the scenic banks of the Willamette River in Champoeg State Park near Portland, and (2) they knew that each mile was furthering their goal of helping a family with 13 developmentally disabled adopted or foster children.
The service project was coordinated by youth chairmen Lee Oakley and Julie Haddon of the sponsoring Tigard First and Second wards. Enough money was raised (through pledges from sponsors) to help Mr. and Mrs. Floyd Grisham and their daughter, Jacqueline, to convert their garage into a playroom for the 13 disabled children who share their home with them.
Youths from the Gabriel Park, Mountain View, Tualatin Valley and West Hills wards, as well as from the Tigard wards, cycled through level farmland for 20 miles before reaching the park. Beautiful weather; a lunch of tacos, soft drinks and ice cream; and a chance to meet the Grisham family and talk with them at the end of the ride helped ease any muscles strained during the ride.
The young Latter-day Saints patterned this service project after a walk-a-thon held the year before and based it on the following criteria: the service should help someone residing within stake boundaries; it should include direct contact with those they were helping; and it should include people who were not members of the Church. The choice of the bike-a-thon for the Grisham family met all the requirements, since the Grishams are not members of the Church. Each participant received a certificate for his service.

But in the days that followed, both of us felt unsettled—not about marrying each other but about the ring. Let me explain.
In the weeks leading up to our engagement, Shelley and I had spent significant time talking about how we wanted to raise our family and what we wanted our marriage to be like. One of the things at the center of that discussion was our determination to always follow the prophet.
Two months before we were engaged, we listened to lots of talks at the October 1976 general conference reinforcing the principles of self-reliance. This was a topic that President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) and others had been consistently teaching for several years. Both Shelley and I had grown up knowing the importance of growing a garden, having a supply of food, and being generally prepared. But in that general conference, the theme of preparation seemed especially prevalent. Some speakers made reference to the Teton Dam flood that had occurred in June. Among them was Barbara B. Smith (1922–2010), the Relief Society general president, who emphasized the importance of self-reliance—specifically, acquiring a year’s supply of food, as was counseled at the time.1 President Kimball, in the closing session of the conference, reminded Latter-day Saints of the scripture in Luke 6:46, where the Savior says, “Why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” President Kimball then exhorted the Saints to let the messages of conference follow them into their “homes and … future lives.”2
After our engagement, as Shelley and I contemplated the beginning of our marriage and family life, these messages were ringing in our ears. Unbeknownst to each other, both of us were thinking about how to start home storage for our family. To obey the counsel of that time, we needed to start acquiring a year’s supply of food. But how were we supposed to do it? We were students—and would be for years to come—and didn’t have a lot of money. The Holy Ghost gave both of us, separately, the same answer: we needed to sell the engagement ring.
But how was I supposed to ask Shelley to do that? I had just given her the ring. What would she think about my asking her to sell it so we could buy some oats and flour and rice? Meanwhile, she was worrying too. What would I think, she wondered, if she were to approach me about selling the ring I had picked out for her? Would it hurt my feelings?
But the prompting each of us had felt was too strong to ignore, and the more each of us thought about it, the more glaring that diamond ring became. When Shelley raised the subject a few days after Christmas, I was relieved that she had arrived at the same conclusion I had. In many ways, it was a tremendous confirmation to both of us about the choice of whom we were going to marry. To know that our priorities and values were in sync with the other’s and with the prophet of God was tremendously reassuring. I was so grateful for her willingness to make such a sacrifice to follow the prophet.
Please don’t misunderstand me and please don’t sell your rings! Buying or wearing an engagement ring isn’t wrong. In fact, our married children all have lovely and appropriate rings. There are many ways we can follow the prophets and apostles and apply their counsel to our personal lives. But because the Spirit had directed us to follow the prophet by selling our engagement ring, in our case the choice was between keeping the ring and following the prophet. This helped us establish two patterns in our home from the very beginning: following the prophet and following the personal, spiritual promptings we received.

As a token of gratitude to the missionaries who brought the Gospel of Jesus Christ to our family, I did my best to reconnect with them. It was a challenge because the photos and letters they left with us did not have their contact information.
In 2019, while serving as stake president, I was prompted to search the Church Directory of Leaders (CDOL) for their names. I found 10 Richard Irvings in Utah serving as bishops. I decided to contact their clerks. The very first clerk that I emailed responded when I asked if his bishop served as a young missionary in the Philippines in the 1980s.
As I recall, the day that he received the information from his clerk, Bishop Irving was in a mutual activity with the youth of his ward, telling them stories about his mission and about the families he and his companion taught in 1981.
In short, Bishop Irving went back to the Philippines in November 2022 after almost 41 years since his mission. When he came, he brought a letter my father sent to him when he transferred from Tuguegarao to another area. In the letter, my father expressed his joy and his spiritual experiences as a new member, including the joy of receiving the priesthood in a district conference he attended. He expressed his great joy in joining the Church with his family with which no amount of earthly possession can compare.
As an Area Seventy, I have countless opportunities to minister and bless the lives of the people I meet. I am also blessed with experiences I never thought I would have, like attending General Conference and working with prophets, apostles, and other chosen servants of God. While in Utah, I was also blessed to reconnect with my companions in the mission and the family of Bishop Irving. We went to the Jordan River and Provo City Temples with our wives, and the first time we did he whispered “I never thought that this could happen, I was with you in your baptism in 1981, and 42 years after, now we are here together worshiping in the Temple.”

From Dream to Reality: A Young Leader’s Culinary Journey
Meet Yazé Aristophane Guy-Landry, a dynamic young single adult leader in the Grand-Bassam Côte d’Ivoire Stake, whose journey of self-reliance began at the Gathering Place. It was there, in a simple pâtisserie class, that Yazé discovered a passion for baking and a newfound confidence in his talents.
That spark ignited a bold step forward—he enrolled at the École Hôtelière de Grand-Bassam, where he is now thriving in his culinary studies. As he builds his skills, Yazé is also gaining valuable experience by working at the hotel. His goal is clear: to eventually launch his own restaurant.
Reflecting on this journey, he shared, “This experience is changing the way I viewed life some time ago. I am convinced that if I work well, with God’s help, I will be financially good and self-sufficient.”
Yazé credits the Gathering Place not just for his career direction but also for deep personal and spiritual growth. “I can truly attest to the authenticity of this program called Gathering Place,” he said. “I believe it is a gift from heaven and carried out by our leaders to bring together the youth of the Church and their friends in an enchanted place, allowing them to learn more, whether it be skills training or the importance of human values, helping us to keep our covenants and stay on the right path.”
For Yazé, the Gathering Place is more than a classroom—it’s a community. “I had the opportunity to get to know several members and friends. I even believe that my marriage will come from the Gathering Place. I invite all my young single adult friends to give this program the utmost importance.”
Yazé’s story is a powerful example of how the Gathering Place is transforming lives, helping young adults turn hope into action and dreams into achievement.

Elder Haight’s family and the Church were important to him, even more so after an experience he had while serving in the U.S. Navy during World War II. One night, while flying over the Pacific Ocean on his way from California to Hawaii, he looked out the plane’s window and saw flames coming out of an engine. “It was spewing so much fire that I thought the plane was on fire, which caused me great concern. I wondered about my family, whether I would see them again,” he recalled.

David couldn’t sleep that night, so he prayed. “I made a commitment to the Lord that if I got out of the war alive and back with my family, the Church would always come first in my life. … Before then it seemed to me that I didn’t have my priorities in proper order. That night I reappraised my life and recommitted myself to the Lord.”5

The plane arrived safely, and Elder Haight kept his commitment to the end of his life.